Verbalizing
This is the part of my day when I would blog and I am doing that, putting words in a blank word document and telling myself it is the ‘right’ thing to do. I just don’t always keep the words that end up coming out of my head.
I am better than I expected myself to be. I am getting out of bed, even if the time I am dragging myself out of bed is later than I have slept in years. It is hard to go to bed at night. And harder to wake up in the morning. When I am sleeping I can forget that the house is too quiet. I am able to overlook the empty space and be at peace. Once I start waking up, in that half state of sleep and wakefulness, is when the nightmares start. I am not so peaceful, then. I still wake up with tears on my pillow every morning. Because I am harder on myself than I need to be, I become resentful of my pussy-like behavior. I am conditioned to expect bad things, why I am taking this so hard? I know crazy talk from the crazy lady.
Adam is restless. He floats from room to room, half-heartedly attempting to clean and organize what is left of our life. I follow him like a shadow-puppy.
Periodically we are able to talk about it. It. We have a hard time saying it in a ‘good’ way. I make a lot of inappropriate dead baby jokes. He laughs, and then tells me I have gone too far. My inability to be appropriate in somber times has kept him going in the past, so I keep doing it. We don’t fight. We just stop. We stop talking, stop moving, but we keep hurting.
When we first bought this house, I couldn’t wait to fill it up with memories. I was so excited that it was a new house with no residual energy in it. I had grand ideas of filling it up with nothing but love. I feel bad for the house, now. There has been so much loss and pain in its short little life. At least the house knows that we are capable of great love and happiness, so maybe it won’t turn on us.
I think about how excited I was about this holiday season. I was forming traditions that were supposed to last Mazzy’s whole life. I guess, in a way, they did.
The people around us are holding their children a little tighter. They are a little more focused on what is best for their kid(s). I think that is all I can ask out of people right now.
We still have people that are using our daughter’s death as a reason to screw up their lives. It is frustrating. A few weeks ago I would have taken the individual(s) aside and told them that they are screwing up. Now I don’t have the drive. I spent enough of my life trying to help people who don’t want help. Wasted energy. At least I know that they are more important to them than I could have ever been. I mean, my kid dies and they get high? How does that work?
My only crutch right now is smoking. I have been offered booze and drugs and I am not tempted. I don’t want Mazzy to check on me only to find that I am screwing up. She didn’t leave to hurt me and I refuse to let her feel guilty that her time was up.
I am better than I expected myself to be. I am getting out of bed, even if the time I am dragging myself out of bed is later than I have slept in years. It is hard to go to bed at night. And harder to wake up in the morning. When I am sleeping I can forget that the house is too quiet. I am able to overlook the empty space and be at peace. Once I start waking up, in that half state of sleep and wakefulness, is when the nightmares start. I am not so peaceful, then. I still wake up with tears on my pillow every morning. Because I am harder on myself than I need to be, I become resentful of my pussy-like behavior. I am conditioned to expect bad things, why I am taking this so hard? I know crazy talk from the crazy lady.
Adam is restless. He floats from room to room, half-heartedly attempting to clean and organize what is left of our life. I follow him like a shadow-puppy.
Periodically we are able to talk about it. It. We have a hard time saying it in a ‘good’ way. I make a lot of inappropriate dead baby jokes. He laughs, and then tells me I have gone too far. My inability to be appropriate in somber times has kept him going in the past, so I keep doing it. We don’t fight. We just stop. We stop talking, stop moving, but we keep hurting.
When we first bought this house, I couldn’t wait to fill it up with memories. I was so excited that it was a new house with no residual energy in it. I had grand ideas of filling it up with nothing but love. I feel bad for the house, now. There has been so much loss and pain in its short little life. At least the house knows that we are capable of great love and happiness, so maybe it won’t turn on us.
I think about how excited I was about this holiday season. I was forming traditions that were supposed to last Mazzy’s whole life. I guess, in a way, they did.
The people around us are holding their children a little tighter. They are a little more focused on what is best for their kid(s). I think that is all I can ask out of people right now.
We still have people that are using our daughter’s death as a reason to screw up their lives. It is frustrating. A few weeks ago I would have taken the individual(s) aside and told them that they are screwing up. Now I don’t have the drive. I spent enough of my life trying to help people who don’t want help. Wasted energy. At least I know that they are more important to them than I could have ever been. I mean, my kid dies and they get high? How does that work?
My only crutch right now is smoking. I have been offered booze and drugs and I am not tempted. I don’t want Mazzy to check on me only to find that I am screwing up. She didn’t leave to hurt me and I refuse to let her feel guilty that her time was up.
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